


The Tale of the Littlest Cherry Stone: Or, The Pit of Despair

by Claire, Temaris



Series: Zen and the Art... [4]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: AU, Anthropomorphic, Crack, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temaris/pseuds/Temaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The littlest cherry stone's story...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of the Littlest Cherry Stone: Or, The Pit of Despair

**Author's Note:**

> We have neither explanations nor apologies. Only a certain wistful wonder as we try to remember how this happened _stone cold sober_.
> 
> If it helps, it's cherries as anal beads, from the POV of the cherry. Yeah, I didn't think so.

Once upon a time there was a little cherry stone who lived in a big brown paper bag with all his brother and sister cherries. He spent his days surrounded by the cushioning red flesh that kept the world at bay, hiding deep within his moistalicious home until one day a smouldering, sexy leather-clad triple agent purchased them all. The littlest cherry stone thought, "Finally, I'll get to see the world. Have adventures! Make friends!" But his brothers and sisters all teased him and told him that he was just a little thing and that he would never grow to be big enough to see the world. He watched eagerly as his siblings left one by one, wondering when it would be his turn, his moment in the sun. When he would boldly go where no cherry stone had gone before...

And one by one they were all taken out of the big, brown paper bag until only the littlest cherry stone was left. He waited and waited, one ear pressed against the rough paper listening to the screams and yelps outside. He clenched his eyes tightly shut and hoped with all his might that he wouldn't be forgotten about. That he would get to join his brothers and sisters in the big wide world. Then, when he had almost given up hope, the bag rustled and a hand appeared over the entrance. It hovered for what seemed like eternity to the little cherry stone before finally plunging into the bag.

"This is it!!!" The little cherry stone almost shed his red protective flesh in excitement. But as the hand rummaged around, the littlest cherry stone was jostled into one corner and his stalk got stuck in a tiny rip in the bag.

"No! Noooooo!" the littlest cherry stone cried in despair as he desperately tried to free himself. "This isn't how it should end! Abandoned! Forgotten! Left, alone and miserable at the bottom of a dirty paper bag!"

He cried out at the unfairness and cruelty of the world that was denied to him, when suddenly, strong, masculine, yet incredibly smooth, long and delicately-boned fingers gently surrounded him and brought him into the light. This was his moment, the one he'd been waiting! He yearned for the light, for the adventure; longed for the sparkly awareness of an ever expanding universe. And it was here! It was now! It blinded him. It was just as beautiful as his frail, old mother back in his homeland of Walmart had told him. At last! *His* moment in the sun.

He reached out -- Splat! -- he was submerged into a sea of warm sticky gooeyness. He struggled in the grip of his captor. What was this? he wondered. His dreams - his bright and shining hopes, were suddenly in tatters, joy turned to nightmare, brought into the sunlight, only to be dipped and drowned by a worshipper of the chocolate sea of death? He reeled at the shock; helpless, he was lifted from the swirling brownness with agonising sloth, and as he swung precariously, clinging with desperate strength to his stalk, he finally looked out... across a scene of such horror... He gasped, a chill shudder reaching his very kernel at the sight before him, like all his worst nightmares at once, his sap was frozen in its stalk, his pulp withering in fear. He was the very pit of despair. He could feel every cell, every vacuole and nucleus cringing in terror... red littered the landscape. The pits and stalks of a thousand fallen friends, family, *brethren*, lay scattered across an uncaring hard, cold dessert(sic).

The squished bodies of his brothers and sisters radiated outwards from that hateful centre and the stones... His own stone within him broke in twain, riven by the pain of loss. The pits, tiny, pitiful... once plump flesh reduced to thin threads; tiny sinews that once were living dangled limply. Even the ones who had taunted him terribly, the sight of their mutilated bodies tore at his heart. Clinging desperately to his stalk he watched as a vast expanse of buttock approached. Distant voices boomed, but even if he spoke English, he had no ears to hear the careless mirth of the butchers who had slain so many already.

He clutched at the one constant in his world, his stalk, with a death grip. This at least he would never lose! Death before de-stalkment! There was a soft jolt as he finally came in contact with the pinkness. It was oddly yielding, and the chocolate goo almost hid the bright red smears, the blood, the pith and juice, the skin and the torn spattered flesh of his fallen comrades. For a moment it seemed that this would be the worst of it, as he was slid slowly up and down the dark, gooey crevasse. Pressure increased against the side open to the world, slowly, almost imperceptibly, until it was too much! He couldn't bear it any more! Something had to give... For a terrified moment he thought it would be him, that he too would be split asunder, rent in twain and discarded like those before him

Then, miracle of miracles, the soft surface parted, and he slid inwards, deeper into darkness. Something about this felt ...right... Strange thoughts, of germination, of burrowing deep into the darkness, burying himself for the long winter of the soul, until spring came, when in a flurry of vegetative ecstasy he could reach out, soar towards the heavens...

Pain grew at the join with his stalk and he clutched tighter - no! They could not take that from him! A sickening, squeezing moment later, and he was dragged from his dark haven into the light the painful, piercing light that taunted and mocked him He cringed, no, he wanted back, he tried to cling to the safe place, but he couldn't - the force was too much. Then pain again - and the darkness... Suddenly he knew that this was Hell. To be so close to the Promised Land... to sense the rich scent of fertile ground... to feel the warmth... to hide in the blissful darkness... and then to be dragged away...

He didn't know how long the torture went on for.

He lost count of how many times his captors teased and taunted him with glimpses of happiness, only to tear it away...

He cringed inside his skin, cowering away from the hideousness that surrounded him. Then, oh god, pain upon pain, he shrieked in the depths of his tormented soul as he was pulled out, one last time, and dropped into another dark place.

But neither was he safe here. Glittering white gates snapped and ground, nipping flesh from his stone tearing and rending him, tearing him apart, pulling the sensitive pulp, sucking out the juice until he lay, bare, abandoned, shivering in only the last, fragile threads of his soft body. He shook, beyond words, beyond fear, beyond any terror that might be heaped upon him. Then one more humiliation was forced upon him and he was severed forcibly from his stalk... Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, he was free!!!!

Flying high, high through the air! He left the pain, the torment and the horror behind. To soar high in the light, cool air caressing his torn abused body. He cast a fleeting glance back at the monsters who had discarded him, and were absorbed in their own strange, obscene pleasures, and thanked Demeter for his deliverance. And then he looked down...there.. far below he finally saw it. A true resting place. A Paradise. An Eden in which he could rest. Twisting his tortured body one final time he propelled himself towards the leafy shrubbery that sat nestled around a large pool filled with glistening carp. Hurtling downwards, his velocity drove him deep into the earth, passed the dust and old cigarette butts until he came to his final place of rest.

The littlest Cherry Stone gave a small sigh of contentment and reached out with his roots, until he was firm and secure in the ground and there he remained happily ever after.


End file.
